


A Question of Resolve

by munich



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/munich/pseuds/munich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That Aubrey Posen was Flitwick’s favorite and widely considered a future Prefect in all but name was common knowledge in the Slytherin Common Rooms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Question of Resolve

That Aubrey Posen was Flitwick’s favorite and widely considered a future Prefect in all but name was common knowledge in the Slytherin Common Rooms. She learned the _Acanti_ charms when she was 13; in her second-year, she singlehandedly won Slytherin 70 points for successful recital of the Decker statutes in the middle of the Great Hall during Halloween feast. Nor was she resented for any of these achievements. She was smart, articulate, and resourceful, and the brightest prospect that Slytherin had had in years. 

No: what everyone questioned was a matter of much smaller consequence. For Aubrey Posen had been gifted with a stunningly fabulous set of pipes, and she made sure that no-one in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry ever forgot it. She sang. _Interminably_. She sang during breakfast. She sang during lunch. She sang to herself while mincing toadstool and plimpy eyes in Potions. Once, she sang so blithely while washing her hands in the girl’s bathroom that Moaning Myrtle was forced to flee and find another residence. 

Eventually, her habit became so troublesome that Headmistress McGonagall pulled her aside. 

“Miss Posen,” the Headmistress began, looking at her sternly from over her spectacles, “You realize that I have received official complaints about your behavior from several different sources, including professors.”

“With all due respect, Professor, I’m singing,” argued Aubrey. “I like singing. What’s wrong with singing? I hardly think I’m disturbing anybody by singing.”

“Yes,” replied McGonagall with a heavy, patient sigh, the kind perfected over years of dealing with headstrong students too brilliant and astute to accept ‘no.’ “But you may find that many people might disagree with you. Why, I received a complaint as recently as last night, registered from on top of the Astronomy Tower.”

Aubrey pulled up to a stop to mull this over, frowning. “I don’t recall anybody else on top of the Astronomy Tower with me last night,” she said, slowly.

“They may have been unseen,” agreed McGonagall. Her voice was tinged with an anticipatory caution that became justified as soon as Aubrey asked, wondering: “But why would they be on top of the Astronomy Tower if not to gather star charts?” But the Headmistress had suddenly conveniently developed a case of provisional deafness (a remarkably useful condition she had learned a long time ago from Professor Dumbledore), and could not answer. 

“Start a club. I fully support student involvement and activities,” she said, when she had recovered from her temporary ailment. Aubrey looked down at her feet but McGonagall laid a hand on her shoulder and made her look up. There was something like kindness in her voice. “I am sure that you will find more than a few like-minded students who love singing as much as yourself in this school. Now, run along. Professor Etheridge will be wondering where you are.”

And so Aubrey embarked on a new campaign: to create the first all-girls singing group in Hogwarts history. McGonagall’s counsel had buoyed her spirits inconsiderably and she resolved to overcome any setbacks, no matter how impossible the hurdle seemed. But, as it turned out, this, too, was harder than she had expected.

“Nobody wants to join!” said Aubrey to her best friend, Chloe. “Why doesn’t anyone want to sing with me?”

“I want to sing with you. I’ll join,” said Chloe immediately, but Aubrey knew that didn’t count because Chloe was the kindest, most thoughtful girl in all of Hogwarts. She was so lovely that Mrs. Norris purred when she saw her, and even Peeves went out of his way to avoid her when he readied his nastiest pranks. 

“Well, we can’t just have a two-person club,” Aubrey pointed out reasonably. “That’s a duet, not a chorus. Plus that doesn’t meet Hogwarts requirements for a student organization.”

On these details her memory was vague. Was it a Student Wizarding Code or a Hogwarts Educational Decree? But she was fairly sure that she had read something of the sort in _Hogwarts: A Revised History_ , all the same.

“I’ll find someone,” Chloe promised. 

“What if you don’t?” said Aubrey glumly. 

“I will,” said Chloe, though she sounded rather absent-minded about it all as she took out her wand and adjusted her already polka-dotted cushion on the table. Aubrey looked at her doubtfully, unmoving; she could not imagine how. She had already expended a lot of effort into recruiting during the past few weeks; there was not an empty space of wall or corridor upon which she had not magicked impermeable Tedley’s Miracle-Rain-Or-Shine! flyers. She was certain that the only methods of persuasion left were of brute force or the Imperius Curse, and she could not imagine Chloe doing either.

So it was to her eternal surprise when, on Thursday at 16:00, at their pre-arranged location, Aubrey witnessed Chloe bursting through the door with somebody else in tow, and, still slightly breathless, pull up to a stop and hasten to make introductions.

“This is Beca Mitchell,” Chloe said, turning tables with her voice and eyes, the tilt of her mouth. She still had a good hold on the other girl’s hand, and she now gently tugged her forwards. “She can sing. She wants to sing with us.”

Aubrey thought that Chloe’s use of ‘want’ might have been a bit optimistic; in fact, misplaced: Beca Mitchell looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here. She kept eyeing the exit, on the balls of her feet, seemingly torn between yanking her hand from Chloe’s and fleeing for the door, or reaching for her wand with her other hand and hexing the daylight out of both Aubrey and Chloe, and _then_ fleeing for the door.

But then Chloe let go of Beca’s hand, and—wonder of wonders—Beca stayed. 

“Beca Mitchell,” repeated Aubrey, testing the name on her tongue when it became apparent that Beca wasn't moving anywhere despite her relentless fidgeting. She tapped a finger against her chin and sized her up and down. (It didn’t take very long; Aubrey arrived at a conclusion very quickly: Beca was very small.) “Can you sing, Beca?”

Beca scuffed one shoe on the floor, still rubbing her arm. She started to say something, stopped, and then it became clear that Aubrey's day of surprises was not yet over when Beca replied, hesitant as a wild hippogriff, “Maybe.”


End file.
